The Order of the Garter
by Quicksilver Ink
Summary: Suikoden III. A series of humorous oneshots about the Zexen Knights. Sixth installment: Ace and Nash interrogate Borus on his lady captain's choice of...corsets?
1. The Garter

Copyright Disclaimer: Konami owns what it owns. I own what I own. The trick, of course, is seperating the two.

The Garter: The knights amuse themselves with an old wedding tradition while waiting for Salome to arrive and start a meeting.

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"What's wrong, Lord Borus? You look a little down. Had a bit of bad wine, did you? Or maybe some bit of food turned your stomach?

"I'll take your silence for a yes. Oh, come on, there's no need to scowl at me like that; I drank as much as you did. And I know that normally you can hold your liquor well enough to catch something small thrown to you.

"Ah, is that the trouble? So you actually believe that old superstition. It's too bad it came to me, then, since I don't have a use for that nonsense. It's such a small thing, really... and I don't have a use for the trifle itself, either. Here, I'd give it to you – but the magic is in the catching of it, isn't it? Besides, what woman would wed you?

"My, that's an interesting shade of red your face has turned, Lord Borus..."

Chris Lightfellow looked up from her tea to see a jovial Percival dangling a small, lacy object in front of Borus's rather red face. She sighed.

"Percival, please stop taunting Borus. Or go do it somewhere else." She found herself pressing a hand against the pain in her temples. "You may have been sober enough last night to catch the garter, but some of us are regretting that one last glass of wine."

Percival withdrew the offending object and shrugged apologetically. Borus scowled at him. Chris sighed again, pointedly, and both knights suddenly became interested in adjusting their clothing, Borus fiddling with an embroidered cuff and Percival brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder.

Chris looked down at her own vestments, frowning at the red wool of her coat. It felt strange to wear clothing that didn't creak or clank when she moved. The return to civilian clothes should have been a relief and an indication of a brighter future, what with the long-lasting ceasefire and upcoming treaty negotiations. Borus and Percival seemed comfortable enough in their brocade jackets and soft leather boots; Louis, too, had graduated to adult finery (if not quite adult height), and strutted about the room like a peacock as he offered the knights refreshment.

_I guess I'm the only one who feels naked without armor on, _Chris thought ruefully, watching as a silk-trimmed Roland accepted a cup and saucer from Louis. She shook her head. It was silly to feel this way; there was no danger of enemy arrow or blade here in Vinay del Zexay, in her own parlor.

"Did you enjoy the banquet last night, Lord Roland?" Louis was asking the elf, having served all present. "I didn't see you after the music started."

"Roland was on the dance floor, charming the ladies with his unique grace, while Borus and I were charming the wine bottles," Percival said, earning another scowl from Borus. "When we weren't wooing the ladies ourselves, of course."

"It's not often he gets to show off what a good dancer he is," Chris put in. "When was the last time we were invited to a wedding celebration, anyway?"

Louis thought about it for a moment, still holding the tea tray. "Lord Berram's? No, wait, that was only as an honor guard."

Percival shrugged. "As usual. They invite us for the ceremony, have us stand around looking important, and then shoo us off before we can have any fun. And Borus doesn't drink_ that_ much."

"They're probably afraid of you stepping on the ladies' feet and crippling them," Borus returned testily. "Why did Greisal invite us to the feast, anyway?"

Chris shrugged. "He's been lobbying for increased patrols on the route to Tinto. He probably hoped to buy our friendship, or at least our cooperation."

Percival frowned, brushing at his shoulder again. "Politics. Well, at least we managed to enjoy ourselves on his potch. So it was a worthwhile evening."

The others voiced their agreement; Chris broke off her nod and winced at the volume. A worthwhile evening, except for this blasted headache.

It was clear that Borus, too, would have preferred to spend the morning sleeping off the previous night's wine. He was irritable even without Percival's aid. "Speaking of last evening, why has Salome called a meeting so early in the morning?" He glanced out the window, shielding his eyes against the still-low sun. "He must be as tired as we are, unless...don't tell me he spend the entire time sober, politicking around?"

Percival shrugged. "Someone like our Salome can't stop thinking like a strategist, even at a wedding feast. He'd probably do the same at his own. Ah, well, we enjoyed ourselves enough to cover anything he missed."

"We certainly did." Chris looked down at her untouched cup of tea and grimaced. The bitter medicinal tea wouldn't do anything for her headache unless she drank it. "Louis, is there any sugar?"

Borus answered before the squire could reply from the hall. "I'll fetch some from the kitchen for you, Lady Chris."

Percival grabbed the blond knight's shoulder as Borus turned to go. "Oh, no, my friend, you don't escape another of Salome's meetings so easily!"

Borus glared, shaking off his companion's hand. "It wasn't Salome I was trying to escape. Lord Percival."

Chris decided to intervene; Borus was out of sorts enough as it was, and a fight between her colleagues wouldn't improve her temper, either. "Borus, let Louis get the sugar. Percival, for heaven's sake, leave Borus alone. Good grief, I sound like someone's mother."

Percival bowed in mock apology. "I am deeply sorry, milady, that you should need to scold myself and Lord Borus for squabbling like children."

"What! Children!" Borus grumbled, the ruffles on his shirt quivering.

"Percival…"

"All right, all right. I'll give it up." The chastised knight threw up his hands. "I know the rules. No teasing Lord Borus when the commander is hung over."

Borus, who had relaxed, stiffened again. "Lady Chris is not-"

Chris rolled her eyes; this was getting past absurd and right into pointless. "It's all right, Borus; I'm hung over. You don't need to worry about defending my dignity. Not here, among friends."

"Yes, but even so…"

"What's this about defending Lady Chris's dignity?" Leo had just entered the room.

"The Lady Chris is h-" began Percival, but broke off when Chris mouthed "Percy" at him. He cleared his throat. "The Lady Chris is suffering from the presence of yours truly. Sir Borus wished to alleviate her troubles."

"I see. I thought maybe she was talking about that thing." The grizzled knight indicated the garter that Percival still held. "But I thought women usually wore them under dresses."

Borus frowned as Percival made a show of noticing the garter for the first time. "Ah, yes, this. They threw it at the wedding. It's an old tradition, you know."

Louis returned, bearing a tray. "You were the one who caught it? Lord Percival?" The squire offered the sugar to Chris, and Percival flashed him a grin.

"Indeed."

"Doesn't that mean you're going to get married soon, Lord Percival? According to the tradition, I mean. So who are you going to marry?" Louis proffered the tea tray. "Tea, Sir Knights?"

Percival reached for a fresh cup. "Well, who would you marry if you'd caught it, Louis?"

"Lady Chris, of cour- that's not fair, Lord Percival!" Louis pulled the tray out of Percival's reach. "I was serving, so I didn't have a chance! Neither did Lord Roland… right, Lord Roland?"

The elf, who'd been sitting silently in the corner, spoke up. "Louis is correct, Lord Percival." he said gravely. "It is hardly fair of you to marry Lady Chris, if not all of us were given the chance to catch the garter."

"I would have tried if I'd known it was Lady Chris's hand at stake," rumbled Leo. "I assumed it was just marriage in general."

Chris tried to hide her smile at her companions' absurdities, her headache forgotten. "Alas, Lord Percival, how unchivalrous of you!" she chided him, trying to flutter her voice like a fasionable lady. It cracked. "In the name of fairness, you must offer these knights another chance."

Percival laughed and responded with a grandiose bow, the buttons on his coat sleeves catching the light. "Very well! I shall toss this garter into the air, and he who catches it, wins the right to marry Lady Chris." He twirled around, facing the others in turn. "Are we agreed, my good lords? My lady?"

The others agreed, but Borus looked doubtful. "How do we know you won't just toss it to yourself?"

Percival feigned shock. "My dear Lord Borus, how can you say such a thing? Rest assured I will do no such thing."

"What about Lord Salome?" Louis pointed out. Percival hesitated.

Leo was quick to answer. "Lord Salome made us get up at dawn for this meeting, but he's not here yet. I say he forfeits his chance!"

Percival nodded. "Very nicely put, Lord Leo. Now, then…we'll all stand here, in a line, and I'll throw the garter to the other side of the room." He indicated the area near the door. "That way, those of greater height shall not have an unfair advantage. And I won't be able to throw it to myself."

Borus nodded, satisfied. "A just decision, Lord Percival," he said in lordly tones, matching Percival. "And on the Lady's signal."

"Agreed! Lady Chris?"

Chris attempted a ladylike gesture with her napkin, and Percival tossed the garter high in the air.

Salome walked into the room at that moment. As one, the other knights watched the garter rise and then fall, to their horror, onto the head of their vice-captain. Salome caught the garter as it tumbled from his head.

"What's this?" he asked the room at large, as Chris shook silently with laughter.


	2. Favors

Copyright Disclaimer: Suikoden III, its characters, locations, etc etc, are all property of Konami, as one might expect, seeing as it's their name on the game's box and copyright notice.

Favors: There's a new fashion among the knights...

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"...I think that takes care of everything. I'll go see about the quartermaster about supply wagons, then?" Chris collected her papers into a pile, tapping the edge of the stack against the desk.

Salome rose out of courtesy as she opened the door and stepped out of the salon. He had not yet reseated himself when Chris backed rapidly into the room. She closed the door quickly, slapped her stack of papers on the table, and flattened herself, back to the wood, against the door.

"Is something wrong, milady?" he asked her, watching her pat her sides frantically.

Chris cursed under her breath - Salome caught the words "no pockets" and "armor" and "bloody idiots" amidst a few choice oaths. "Salome, you wouldn't happen to have a clean handkerchief on you, would you? Percival's started yet another absurd fashion."

Bemused, the strategist produced one from his coat, which Chris accepted and hastily attempted to tie about her left arm, just above the elbow. Her gloved fingers were clumsy, fumbling with the linen fabric, and Salome stepped forward. In the end, she stripped off her right gauntlet and pulled the knot tight with bare hand and teeth, and his offered assistance went unneeded.

She flexed her arm experimentally, pulled her gauntlet back on, recovered her papers, and strode confidently to the door. "Thank you. Quartermaster. Right. See you this evening, Salome."

She was out the door, then, her steps echoing down the stone hall. Salome heard her greet Louis and Borus, and so was unsurprised when the two appeared, somewhat tense, in the doorway.

Rising yet again, he greeted them. "Do you need something, Lord Borus? Louis?"

"Did Lady Chris say anything about that handkerchief she was wearing?" Borus demanded. He kept one hand behind his back.

"Did she say who it was from?" Louis wanted to know. The younger knight was holding something white, balled up in his fist.

Salome looked from one to the other, comprehension dawning. So knights were wearing favors again? No wonder Chris had looked so apprehensive. "Just that it was a new fashion. Ought I have asked her?"

Borus drooped a little; Louis shook his head firmly. "That would be against the rules."

"The rules?"

"Of favors. You don't ask a knight whose favor he wears, only if it was gifted or asked for. And if you're a lady, you don't offer a favor to a knight who's already wearing one."

Salome was suddenly very, very glad that none of his handkerchiefs were monogrammed. This nonsense with favors would no doubt lead too enough rivalries among the rank and file; a fictitious triangle involving the most senior officers would certainly not improve the situation.

Not that it would have been entirely fictitious, what with Borus and the others. Which was the entire problem.

There was a clatter of footfalls and armor in the hallway, and a rather red-faced Leo appeared in the doorway. "Has anyone seen Lady Chris?" he panted, somewhat out of breath. He hadn't bothered to conceal the large, floppy handkerchief he was carrying.


	3. Too Late

Too Late: When war breaks out with Tinto, can Percival come to the aid of his friends in time?

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It was a little before noon when Percival arrived at Brass Castle. It had been almost two years since he'd ridden down the stone bridge, farewells echoing in his ears, that now took him back to the fortress. Two years of peace passing lazily by in a town on the edge of the Grasslands. Except for patches of new shingles or scarred boards, it was hard to imagine war in a place like Iksay.

It had come as something of a shock, when the letter arrived summoning him back to the knighthood. News took a long time to reach a town so isolated as Iksay, and the fighting was with Tinto, far to the south. And there had been things to finish before he could leave, arrangements to make. With no way of knowing how the war was going, all he could do was pray that his comrades could do without him for a while longer.

So it was not without a bit of worry that he rode into the stone fortress. Soldiers and citizens scurried about busily, but with a grim air. No groom came forward to take his mount to the stable. Percival didn't mind that – he preferred to see to his horse himself, when he could – but it was a sign that something was amiss.

A greater cause for concern was that no senior officer had come to greet him. Not even Borus, who he considered a close friend. Not even the captain. Surely word of his return had reached them by now, if they were anywhere in Brass Castle. A maid nervously suggested he try the salon, and fled as soon as he thanked her.

Percival trudged up the stairs with a frown. The hallway was strongly empty – not even a guard stood outside the captain's quarters. After uncharacteristic hesitation, he opened the door to the salon.

The scene within made him stop in his tracks. Although the sun was high outside, the curtains were drawn, and the light that streamed through them was weak and blued, casting the room in an odd mix of form and shadow, darkening the still figures of his friends. He'd been too late, as he'd feared - a battle had taken place here only the night before. Five of the Six Mighty Knights had fought, and lost – for their foe was neither human nor mortal.

A pair of stained gloves on the table and an absence of Roland indicated that the elf had known himself to be outmatched, and retreated. The massive Leo lay sprawled in an armchair, his mouth hanging agape, as if he hadn't expected to be defeated so easily. Trays and plates of crumbs were scattered about the carnage, resting atop and beside precarious piles of paperwork and ledger books.

Borus was stretched out on the couch, one arm hanging limply to the ground. He'd known the end was near; his empty boots stood at attention near the foot of the couch, a mute testament to the man Percival had known as both friend and rival. A ledger-book lay open on his chest – Borus had fought to the last. Louis, too, had taken part in the grisly battle, although he was still only a squire. He was slouched at the base of the wall, a half-eaten sandwich to his right and a spilled bottle of ink and splattered papers to his left.

The captain and Salome had both fallen where they'd fought, as befitted the two most senior officers. Side-by-side, toppled faces-forward on the table, where they had been was where the battle had been thickest. Remarkably, the piles of papers were mostly neat, although one had been pushed off the table – no doubt when the strategist had succumbed.

A faint, regular whistle emanated from Chris Lightfellow's still form. There was an answering snore from Borus, and Percival laughed. Chris stirred at the sound and sat up, blinking blearily.

"Oh, good morning, Percival. Welcome back. What time is it?" A few lines of backward writing were imprinted on her left cheek; she'd fallen asleep before the ink had dried.

"Thank you, Lady Chris. It's good to be back," Percival said with a half-bow. "It was just before noon when I arrived. I haven't been here that long."

"Noon? It's that late," a yawn assaulted her mid-sentence. "It's that late already? Dratted paperwork, I could've sworn it was hours yet until dawn."


	4. Peeping Louis

"I can't see anything. Are you sure she's coming?"

"Shh!"

Louis sighed in the steamy room as Hugo noisily tried to quiet Rody. Nash had told the three of them, with a wink that still made the squire suspicious, about the gap between boards in the wall that separated the women's and men's sections of the bath. He still wasn't sure it was all that good an idea, and a niggling sense in the back of his mind suggested it was not at all proper behavior for a knight-to-be.

But niggling sense or no, he was fifteen years old, and besides, it wasn't proper for a knight-to-be to be called a coward by others his age. Maybe this way he'd be able to understand some of the jokes Lord Percival told when Lady Chris wasn't around. So he'd joined Rody and Hugo in their plot to make use of the information so kindly given them by the Harmonian spy.

"Who're we waiting for, anyway?" Rody whispered again, impatiently. "Nash said this was the time when the most beautiful woman in Fire Bringer used the bath.""I told you, it has to be Anne," Hugo said crossly. "Or Yumi. No one else comes close."

Rody was unconvinced. "It could be Queen. She's popular on stage. Or Martha. Estella says Martha's actually under a frog curse that makes her old and wrinkled except when she's in the water."

Hugo said nothing, and Louis put his eye up to the gap rather than have to answer. Movement caught his attention. "Hey, I think I see something," he whispered. There was the splash of someone getting in the bath, and a moment later, a back covered by full ringlets of light hair came into view.

"See, I said it would Anne." Hugo evidently saw the same thing.

Rody tried to push his way in. "Let me see."

Louis frowned as the bather pulled her hair around to the front, revealing shoulders too light and broad to be the tavern keeper. "No, it's someone else. Someone who fights a lot, I think."

"Ugh, I hope it's not your captain," Hugo muttered, turning away from gap in disgust.

Indecision gripped Louis. Suppose it was Lady Chris they were spying on? Should he avert his eyes? That was the proper thing to do. Trouble was, he didn't want to.

Rody took Hugo's spot. "Hair's too yellow to be Lady Chris," he pronounced, to Louis's relief and disappointment. "Actually... I think it's Chief Lucia."

Hugo yelped. "Don't look at my mom like that!" He shoved Rody away. Rody tried to shove back, and the two ended up tussling for a bit.

"Quiet," Louis admonished them both. "You want her to hear us? Anyway, I don't think it can be Chief Lucia or anyone from Karaya. Whoever it is has light skin."

"Jeane?" the mage hazarded.

"Not that it would make much difference, the way she dresses," Hugo said offhandedly. But he was back at the peephole. "No, it's not Jeane... maybe Elaine?"

It had to be Elaine, but she still had her back to them. Louis could see the delicate curves of her shoulder blades emphasized as she scattered rose petals in the water in front of her. She reached out of the bath, water glistening on her pale and shapely arm, and brought back a steaming cup. Mulled wine? Tea?

The three boys huddled around the peephole, watching as the mercenary lounged in the bath, her back still towards them.

The bathwater was hot, especially at the divider, and Louis was growing aware that he shouldn't stay in for much longer - Rody and Hugo were spotting red faces as well, when he glanced over at them.

Fortunately, the woman seemed to have reached her limit, as well. She stretched and made her way to the shallower end of the bath. As she rose, Louis could see the graceful curve of her waist give way to small hips and long, delicate legs.

Long, delicate, _hairy_ legs.

Horror froze Louis and his companions to the spot as the object of their espionage turned around, true identity clear at last. At Louis's side, Rody made a feeble, choking noise and sank back into the water. Hugo and Louis had to help him out of the bath.

Unspoken mutual agreement kept them from ever mentioning their experience again. But Louis still shuddered every time he saw Augustine.


	5. Things That Go Bump in the Night

Author's Note: This was originally written as a Secret Santa gift for tohmaangst. I hope she enjoys it!

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It was the second new moon of the month, and in the heavens, the winter stars seemed to shine all the brighter for its absence. On the ground, though, the soldier who stood shivering watch from the western ramparts of Brass Castle missed its light.

_There ought to be a name for this, like blue moon,_ Private Isten thought dully, staring into the darkness that lurked at the far end of the bridge. _Only that's two full moons._ His eyelids drooped, and he pinched himself, hoping he'd be relieved from watch soon. He'd stood watch on cloudy nights, and other moonless ones, but never had the darkness seemed so solid, nor the far end of the bridge so near. Even the footsteps of the others on patrol were muted. Every time he blinked, it seemed the darkness crept closer. And it was _cold_.

He'd never expected the muffled slam of a door to be so welcome a sound. Soon he was wincing at the sudden brightness of a torch's light as one of his squad-mates joined him.

"Cold enough to freeze a snowbear's nadgers," Private Dooker remarked by way of greeting as he ascended the last few stairs to the wall. "What the hell they're wanting us to watch for, anyway? Treaty signing's in a few weeks, and the Grassies ain't broke the ceasefire yet."

"Can't see why they would. They need this peace more than us," Isten replied, glancing over the wall one last time. His night vision ruined by the torch, all he could see was unbroken blackness right up to the gate below. It was an uncomfortable sight. "Maybe Boss Lady wants us to take up astronomy."

Dooker spat to indicate his opinion of education-pressing officers and handed over the torch. "Maybe Boss Lady should be on this wall then, and leave us lowly folks to our rest. Have a night, Isten."

Isten waved a good night and headed towards the main keep. He turned once, just before opening the door. Despite the torch in his hand, he couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him. Suppressing a shiver, he opened the door.

Then the darkness fell on him like a wall, heavy and bruising. He gasped for air.

The woman known as 'Boss Lady' shared the privates' opinion on the likelihood of an attack by Grasslanders, but as Captain of the Zexen Knights, did not see this as enough reason to reduce the nighttime patrols at Zexen's major fortress. She also shared their heartfelt desire for sleep.

It had been an exhausting day. There was the old mountain of paperwork they'd brought back from Budehuc. They'd worked it down to a gentle hill, but looming ahead was the new mountain of paperwork to be done if the treaty conference succeeded. Reducing the army size for peacetime would eventually mean less paperwork, but, as Percival had remarked, 'that happy time is not yet upon us."

There had also been a summons from the Council for a singularly useless meeting that had taken up half the day. They knew Brass Castle needed better winter outfitting and broken windows replaced, and she knew they wouldn't grant the funds. There was no reason to drag her out to Vinay del Zexay and require everyone to explain this at great length. It had been dinnertime and dark by the time she'd returned, the long light evenings of summer now swallowed by the winter. And there was still paperwork to do.

After so many hours spent scowling and scribbling by oil- and candlelight, she had started to see double. She'd left orders with Salome not to be disturbed for anything short of a full-scale invasion, and stumbled off to bed.

It seemed she'd only been in asleep for a moment when there was a knock at her door.

Chris turned over and drew the blankets over her head, but the sound persisted. With a sigh and a curse, she sat up and made herself push past the heavy damask curtains of her canopied bed.

It was just as black outside the curtains that surrounded her bed, and much colder. It was also dead quiet – no wind whistled through the crack in her window.

Her shawl was draped across the foot of her bed, and she wrapped it around herself as she slid out of bed, hoping her feet remembered where they'd left her battered leather slippers. She was half-right; one foot slipped easily into the mule, but the other swung awkwardly, kicking the slipper away.

There was no time to scrabble about in the dark to find it; the knock at her door came again, more urgently. She snatched up her sword out of habit, and headed for the door, following the path by memory.

_Whoever it is had better have a damn good reason_ _for this_, Chris thought as the cold flagstones nipped at her bare foot. She pulled open the door, squinting against the sudden light from the hall.

"Milady. It's urgent," Salome's silhouette said curtly, followed by something incomprehensible. "Your room may not be safe, and we need to discuss the defenses of Brass Castle."

She could only blink stupidly at him as his image became clear. He'd dressed hurriedly – he had on his trademark jacket and scarf, but his hands were bare, and it looked like he'd simply tucked his nightshirt into his trousers. His hair was a rumpled mess, a distinct contrast to its usual combed, orderly state. He was also carrying his mace. "What do you mean, not safe?" she asked, baffled. "Is that what you woke me up for?" Her arms had caught his sense of urgency, and were buckling on her sword-belt, while her mind whirled blankly.

"We don't know where else they can come in – chimneys, the secret passageway to your room? They've already taken the western courtyard. There's a temporary barricade at the gate to the keep, but if they should break through..."

"Salome, what the hell are you talking about?"

"We've been invaded, milady."

The fog of sleep that had been clouding her mind evaporated. So the west courtyard was already lost… "The western doors are new, at least. We'll want mages with Earth Runes there to reinforce it. How are we on the eastern side? How many casualties so far? How large is the force attacking us?" She paused, her thoughts racing. Salome had mentioned chimneys… "How are the Lizards getting to the roof, anyway?"

"Leo's directing the western barricade; they've got the magicians there already." As if the sound were summoned by the strategist's words, Chris began to hear a repetitive, booming thud – a battering ram? "No enemy presence on the eastern side, but we've recalled the watch and had the shopkeepers take shelter in the keep with us. The entire third watch shift on the western side is gone, and we lost about half of the next before the doors were bolted. And it's not the Lizards, Lady Chris. The ceasefire with Grassland still holds."

"Not the Lizards? But..." If it wasn't the Grasslanders, that left Tinto, or… Chris stared at him, horrified. "Not Harmonia?" An attack Harmonia on Brass Castle could be held off for quite a while, if it was only the regular army. If it was headed by a particular Bishop, however… "Sasarai could pull the whole fortress into the gorge with that Rune of his, if he wanted to."

Salome shook his head impatiently as the booming continued in the background. "No, it's not humans. It's not any country. It appears to be a swarm of monsters from the plains. Large hairy ones - Bonbons, furfurs..."

Chris's train of thought, whirring with plans for redistribution of forces and withdrawal in event of Sasarai, came to a screeching halt. "You mean to say we're being invaded by giant balls of _fluff_?"

"I'm entirely serious, milady!" Salome replied hotly. "As stupid as it sounds, yes, we are besieged by furballs! It doesn't change the fact that we've lost the western courtyard and at least seven men are dead, and more missing! This is a very real and very critical situation!"

The sudden and explosive shattering of glass behind her drove Chris's response out of her mind forever. She leapt forward, knocking Salome to the ground as shards of glass flew overhead to crash against the opposite wall.

"What in hells was that?" Salome wanted to know as they shakily picked themselves off the floor. The background booming had stopped, but Chris's ears were still ringing from the explosion.

"My window, I think," she said, peering inside her room. The light spilling in from the hall outlined her desk, in a corner far from where it normally stood, and illuminated a floor strewn with anonymous debris. There was also a pervasive smell of singed hair, and sounds of movement from the bedroom.

The force of the explosion had slammed her wide-open door against the inside wall; Chris fought the mangled hinges and dragged it closed as quickly as she could. "Do furfurs explode?"

"…It would seem some of them do, milady," Salome replied, over the slam of something against the now-closed door. "Suicide squad, perhaps? We'd best get out of here."

"Hang on." They must have chosen her room for the window; it had already been badly cracked, and so weakened. There were at least three other bad windows on this floor, and who knew if an exploding furball could take out a normal window. "Salome, if they can get in up here, holding the west gate won't mean anything. I'm going to have to try to block these doors. Watch my back, please."

Not waiting for an answer, Chris turned to face her door, which was already shuddering. She held up her right hand, palm upward, exposing the shimmering concentric of the True Water Rune. _Listen to me, Rune… this is what I want to do._

Once before, out of control, the Rune had covered nearly all of a ruined Sindar city in thick, silent ice so cold that fire spells hardly touched it. If she could get it to do the same thing here, on the doors of the upstairs room…

Chris closed her eyes, willing herself not to hear the thuds of furballs flinging themselves at her door, to ignore the rustle of fabric that told her Salome had moved to stand back-to-back with her.

She tugged cautiously at her mental connection to the Rune. _Ice, to close the doors,_ she told it, and tugged again, feeling an answering cold trickle of power. _More._

Floodgates opened in her mind, the Rune's power coursing out through her like a river, and there was nothing she could do but stand there, trying to keep the image of what she wanted fixed in her mind, trying to keep her thoughts louder than the roar of the Rune.

She peeled her eyes open to see the entire wall in front of her glittering with a growing layer of ice. The frozen barrier had already covered all the doors, and now was creeping around the corners, down the stairs. _That's enough!_ she thought hastily, clenching her right hand as she fought the current of the Rune's power. It dwindled and finally stopped.

"Impressive, Lady Chris," Salome said from behind her, and she turned to see the opposite wall, too, was covered in a thick, glittering layer of ice. Torches ensconced on the wall still blazed merrily behind the frozen wall, the ice making their flames almost blue. "Now may we go?"

The main floor was in an uproar. Soldiers milled about in various states of undress, some struggling to pull on various articles of clothing or armor as they ran about under orders. Barricades had been set up at the west gate and against the door to the northern barracks, with another growing against the east gate. Officers of all ranks were bellowing orders; Leo outvoiced them all.

"Get those barrels to the east gate! Sergeant Pitz, get your squad to the infirmary and help barricade the windows!"

"Squad seven, what're you doing looking so clean? I told you, block the kitchen fireplace thoroughly! If you're not black with soot, you didn't try hard enough!"

"Half a dozen furballs are in the armory! Where's the mop-up squad?"

"Those barrels aren't moving themselves! I said get them to the east gate! Move the damn barrels alread- oh, hello, Lady Chris, Salome."

It was clear that Leo, too, had been roused with little time to dress - all he had on was a quilted robe over his nightshirt, and boots. He hadn't bothered with pants.

Trying not to grin at the contrast between the purple cotton and battered leather, Chris nodded. "What's the situation, Leo?"

"The western gate still holds. No idea if they'll come from the east, so we're barricading that gate to be safe. Some fool opened a window in the northern barracks, and the whole wing's crawling with the little buggers." His jaw clenched. "We couldn't get everyone out before we had to block the door, and dozens of the hairballs got through before we got it shut. Borus is directing the squads to clean them out. And Roland," Leo nodded as the elf walked past briskly. He alone was fully dressed and armored. "Has been taking charge of the southern barracks, in case we have to withdraw there. They're underground, so no damned windows to cover."

"Sounds good," Chris said, with a nod. "What of the cellars?"

Leo's brow furrowed. "What of them? They're underground, but there's not enough room for us all to withdraw down there, and there's too much junk to fight the hairballs there, if it comes to that." Behind him, the barricade shuddered, even as soldiers added a heavy wooden table from the mess.

Chris frowned. "Is there any way they might tunnel in?" she asked, turning to Salome. "I'd rather not have to seal it, since we're cut off from the outside well, and the inner cistern is the only other source of water." There was her Rune as well, but the business upstairs had reminded her that it wasn't as easily commanded as an ordinary rune. Chris didn't want to find out the hard way that it wouldn't supply enough drinkable for her entire army – nor did she want to flood them out if she lost control.

"I _believe_ the stonework is solid. It certainly ought to be, but if there are other forgotten passages like the one near the well…"

Chris sighed as Salome trailed off. "So what you're saying is, you're not sure. Never mind," she raised a hand to hold off his apology. "We haven't had time to have that checked since coming back from Budehuc. Once we're sure things are under control up here, I'll go down with a squad to take a look, and try to seal up anything that looks suspicious. Leo," she gave him a curt nod, "I'll leave you in charge here. And if I ever find out who's responsible for those blasted secret passages being forgotten, I'll feed him an exploding furball. This isn't _that_ old a fortress."

It turned out there wasn't much that needed Chris's attention. The barricade construction was going well; another magician at the western one put a stop to the shuddering, and the eastern and northern ones remained untested. The hallway to the parade ground needed to be sealed, but the gate to the outside had remained barred. The infirmary windows were sealed, the kitchen secure, and lieutenants were already drawing up loose rotas for squads to man the vulnerable places. Percival was nowhere to be found, but since his rooms weren't in the northern barracks, Chris assumed he'd made himself useful somewhere and hadn't had time to report in. Roland oversaw the rearrangement of the southern barracks with his usual brisk efficiency; there was nothing for Chris to help with there.

Borus soon materialized, followed by a squad of soldiers and Louis. All of them looked rumpled. Borus's black-spotted nightshirt was only half tucked into his trousers, and speckled with blood – the rest bore similar signs of a fight.

"Furball patrol, Borus?"

The other knight nodded. "We're still not sure how many slipped past before we closed off the north barracks. We think we've got most of them – about forty, all told – but I've got other squads combing the halls. Some may be hiding in corners, behind barrels, in gaps between flagstones… who knows."

Chris blinked. "I know they're not exactly large, but I didn't think they'd be able to hide in the floor."

"Beg your pardon, milady, but they're all different sizes and colors!" Louis cut in. "Blues and greens and reds and yellows. Some can blend into the shadows, others seem to be glowing in the dark."

Borus nodded in agreement. "I've never seen anything like it, Lady Chris, not all in one place. And they all seem to be cooperating. It's not the usual free-for-all. We're in squads…but they are, too. They seem _organized_, somehow."

The hairs rose on the back of Chris's neck. "How could that be? They don't travel in anything but small family groups, maybe three or four, in the wild."

Borus shrugged helplessly. "Goddess knows. But I'd swear they're thinking tactics. Some will hold a doorway while others get away."

Chris sighed and pulled her shawl around her tighter; it was getting cold down here. "Well, your instincts are usually right. Keep up the sweep, and let me know if anything else turns up. Be careful, though." She brought up a hand to dismiss them, then stopped. "Have any of you seen Percival?" There were headshakes all around, and she sighed. "Never mind, he'll turn up."

Salome had already acquired a squad for the cellar investigation. Chris left orders with Leo to send a runner with a signaling scroll, spelled to produced a bang and a bright flash of light, at the first sign of anything happening, and then, sword in one hand and torch in the other, lead the party down the stairs to the cellars.

The flagstones leached the heat from her bare foot as she descended. She'd forgotten her missing slipper when using the Rune upstairs, and on the main floor she had been able to stand with her bare foot half on top of the other. She knew the foot would soon go numb from the cold, a mixed blessing – it wouldn't bother her any more, but it could be dangerous if she had to fight. She tried to put it out of her mind and search for any signs of possible entry.

The cellars were huge and dark, serving as Brass Castle's primary storage space for food and water, and the secondary for arms, armor, and other equipment. The quartermaster and his staff kept a tight ship; even the piles of miscellaneous junk were in neat rows. Chris had the squadron fan out and walk the straight isles, checking for loose floorstones, disrupted piles of crates, and hiding furfurs themselves. The single magician in the group had a wind rune; he sat himself cross-legged on the highest pile of boxes he could climb and began to search the eddies of the air along the walls for drafts. Chris and her strategist also split up, each walking along a wall, feeling for vibrations of nearby digging, shifted stones, any sign that something wasn't quite right. It was a slow-going task; no one was entirely certain what would be suspicious and what wasn't.

Chris wasn't even sure what they could do if they did find something troublesome, short of sealing the walls and floor in ice. Assuming she had the energy for that; the adrenaline rush triggered by the explosion had worn off, and Chris had to bite back yawns as she examined the cellar wall.

After half an hour, she looked around; they hadn't covered even a quarter of the cellar. The wind mage had his eyes closed; she hoped he hadn't fallen asleep. She sighed and turned back to her wall, resigned to spending the next few hours staring at stone and brick.

There was a thud from overhead, muffled by the stone and ceiling. Chris wasn't certain if it was vibrations or her fatigue that made her sway.

"That was one of the barricades!" Salome shouted, and then they all were running for the stairs. Chris kicked off her remaining slipper – it was hard to run with unequally shod feet – and tugged at her sword, loosening its fit in its sheath. Her shawl dropped off, but she let it go, not wanting it to tangle her arms in the fight.

"It must have collapsed all at once, with little warning," he called across to her as she caught up with him. "Because we got no signal."

Chris grunted her agreement, numb feet pounding against the cold floor.

They had to slow down at the stairs, which had been designed with an invasion in mind. Every sixth step was shorter than the rest, and liable to trip someone who took them at a run.

The main floor, when they spilled out of the stairwell onto it, was in utter chaos. The only order to be seen was, horribly, in the advance of the colorful, hairy wave of monsters. An occasional spark of purple could be seen above the fray; with men and monsters at such close quarters, only the precise attacks of lightning runes could be used without hitting allies, and there was little time for spell-chanting.

_Borus was right,_ Chris thought as she slashed at a grey furball that had reached her. _They're not just trying to overwhelm us with numbers. They're attacking us like an army should._

A knight with greying hair barked orders at her squadron as Chris's group reached the main floor. Chris couldn't make out her words above the din, but a group of soldiers, ones in some semblance of armor, moved in front of a group of human fighters in nightshirts that were being hit particularly hard. Chris shouted, calling in her squadron to join them.

Chris lost track of how many furballs came at her; there simply wasn't time to count. Salome kept to the back, and on the rare moments she could spare the time to look around, she could see that he'd ordered squadrons in and out of the fray, organizing them, forming a wall that was holding back the invading monsters. It was impossible to tell how badly wounded the men being dragged to the approximate safety behind the wall were. The monsters fought by cuffing, buffeting and slamming into their opponents, some with enough force to break bone.

A section of the wall staggered and broke at the sudden charge of a dozen yellow furballs. Chris and the men around her fell back rather than be swarmed from behind. A group of furballs came at her, and she drove them aside only to be faced with another, smaller furball shimmering with the light of a rune.

_They were protecting it so it had time to finish its spell!_ Chris struck out, but too late; a sharp, painful jolt of electricity sent her flying backwards.

She struggled to her feet, still shaking from the force of the spell. The line had fallen apart completely, and furballs of all colors were rushing it.

Soldiers that could were fighting back-to-back with comrades, and Chris found Salome had come to stand behind her. There was no time for thanks, let alone discussing a strategy; they both needed their breath against the grim, colorful onslaught.

Slowly, gradually, the sounds of battle faded, and then there were no more furballs rising up against her.

"Is that the last of them?" Chris asked. Her voice sounded rough and strange to her ears.

Salome's voice sounded equally hoarse. "I'm not sure. But look at the gate!"

There were furballs amidst the wreckage of Leo's barricade, but they weren't attacking anyone. Instead, they hovered in variegated rows, quietly.

"I don't like this," Chris said quietly. "What's happening now?"

The ranks of the furfurs split, lining up against the walls, the same pattern of colors along each. Like an honor guard.

_Lend me some strength,_ Chris thought to the Water Rune. _For whatever's going to happen next. It's been a long night._

If the Rune had a face, Chris suspected it would've been frowning in disapproval. But she felt a whisper of power, and the fatigue lifted from her muscles, the pain from the lightning strike fading.

Salome frowned at her; she guessed he'd seen the brief flicker of blue light and was afraid she'd use the Rune in an inadvisably spectacular manner.

The assembled furfurs shivered and dropped, humming. A dense silvery cloud of fog rolled towards the lines by the door, and stopped, framed by the wrecked doors and stone arch of the threshold. At least, it looked like a cloud; it floated as if it had no weight, and it was lumpy, irregularly shaped. It was over six meters tall, and glimmered with some internal light.

It was carrying something small and dark.

Chris stepped forward. Salome put a hand on her shoulder, whether to caution or reassure her, she didn't know. She shook it off regardless, and walked forward through her soldiers, across a floor littered with furry corpses. She stopped when she reached the doorway, and stared up at it, trying to see through the fog to whatever it concealed.

The object dropped, landing at her feet. The cloud hovered motionlessly, and at last, Chris bent to retrieve it, ignoring the voice in her mind that told her she was a fool to make herself so vulnerable. Nothing happened as she straightened up, looking at the object in her hand.

It was a glove. A lady's glove, the sort Chris might wear while riding.

The Silver Maiden looked back up at the cloud, only to see it rolling and roiling, although it didn't move from where it hovered. Two dark spots appeared, shining in the cloud's light like polished onyx.

_Eyes_, Chris realized, and then found herself backing up as the thing before her came into focus. It wasn't a cloud; it was a giant furfur. This was the one who had organized the furfurs as an army, the mastermind behind the invasion.

"May I take this to be your challenge?" she asked, her voice somehow steady despite the bubble of hysteria that rose in her throat. The voice of a storyteller she'd heard in childhood whispered from her memory. _And the swordsman dropped his glove upon the ground in challenge, and all around them the battle stopped as he met the bandit chief in single combat. _"A duel for Brass Castle?"

The queen furfur tipped forward, her eyes dipping in what was unmistakably a nod.

Chris swallowed. The thing was twenty feet tall, and Chris couldn't imagine she stood a chance – but neither did anyone else. It was clear the army of smaller furfurs could overrun them all, if they chose. It was also very likely that if she refused the queen's challenge, the queen would kill her outright.

It was offering her a chance, a bizarre display of honor from a species she'd never considered more thoughtful than any other wild monsters.

_Nothing else for it,_ Chris thought, and took a deep breath. "Then as Captain of the Knights of Zexen, I, Lady Chris Lightfellow, accept your challenge," she said loudly, projecting her voice to carry to the back of the hall. "Let none interfere."

What had possessed her to add that last part? It was a stupid thing to say, and would likely be counted among her last words.

She followed the queen furfur out to the courtyard, ignoring Borus and Salome's cries to stop. It was strangely bright outside. Chris looked around, shaking her arms to warm up her muscles, and saw the yard was ringed with small golden furfurs, each emitting a soft light.

Chris saluted her opponent with her sword; the silver creature nodded. Then it charged her.

It was too large and too fast to avoid, and Chris found herself knocked to the ground before she'd had a chance to strike. She rolled as she went down, passing under the great silver body as it swept past little more than a foot from the ground. She rose to her feet behind it, striking at it before it turned.

She hadn't expected her blow to do more than irritate it, assuming the queen to have a thicker hide than the smaller furfurs. But a thin trickle of black smoke hissed from the small wound – a scratch, really. First blood was hers, after a fashion.

_If this were a nobles' duel, it'd be over now,_ Chris thought wryly as the queen furfur turned and swung towards her again. Again it knocked her off her feet. _You'd think I'd have learned from the first time it did that, _she thought, wincing as gravel bit at her bare legs. The queen struck her again before she could roll clear, and again, knocking her towards the wall.

Somehow Chris managed to roll away and climb to her feet. She kept her distance from the queen furfur, sometimes edging away slowly, sometimes running outright.

She was safe for now, but it wasn't going to get her anywhere, and it was wearing her out besides. Already she was breathing heavily, and running set her gasping. All her sword could do was scratch it. Her Phoenix rune might help, if she could stand in place long enough for its power to carry her through the motions of the attack, but right now the furfur could turn too swiftly to risk even that as it raged past.

She ducked down to avoid its latest charge, then came to her feet and ran perpendicular to the creature's path. It turned around, but slowly, as if turning in place were harder than moving in a direction. It moved faster than she could, but its search was slow. If she could blind it somehow…

The furfur's gaze found her, and it charged again. Chris planted her feet firmly and held her sword out before her. It was wrenched from her hand and she was sent flying.

After another awful eternity of rolling about on the ground, bruised repeatedly as the furfur knocked her about, she at last made it to her feet with her sword in her hand.

A stream of black haze flowed from a spot well under the creature's eyes. She'd wounded it, but in the wrong place. _So much for that attempt_.

The furfur charged, the black smoke streaming behind like a ribbon. In desperation or just plain stupid bravado, Chris sheathed her sword and leapt forwards as it came at her, hands grasping frantically for the silver fur.

And latched on.

Surprise glued Chris to the queen furfur as she flew through the air at its front. Immediately it tried to shake her off, turning and tipping as frantically as it could, which wasn't much. It didn't seem able to turn arrears-over-eyes at all.

Chris's brain jolted her limbs into action, and she struggled to pull and kick herself up the front of the creature. The lumps that had made it look like a cloud before served her now as footholds and steps.

The skin shuddered beneath her as she climbed, muscles she didn't understand straining and rippling and bunching. The movement made the ascent almost more treacherous than the queen's movement.

Then she was at the top, or what was the top on average, and she rode a creature who moved so fast the flickering of the distant ground made her dizzy. It was nauseating and exhilarating.

A lumpy ridge protected the eyes from where she was, but maybe it would do to strike down, into the flesh behind the eyes. There would be nerves there. She fought to unsheathe her sword, interrupted again and again as the queen shook and shuddered, trying to fling her off.

Finally she had it out, nearly wounding herself on it as the queen abruptly changed directions beneath her. Raising her arm to strike was difficult, too; the creature had started moving in short, jerky bursts. She brought the sword down once, twice, the blade angling at the last minute to produce only scrapes. Acrid black smoke rose from the cuts it made, making Chris choke and obscuring her vision.

The third time, she drove the blade straight down, steel embedding itself five inches into the queen's body before it struck bone. Black smoke rushed out, so thick and hot Chris lost track of things for a moment as she struggled to breathe.

The queen gave a great, wordless cry in pain and anger, and flew backwards, slamming itself into the wall repeatedly, trying to crush the awful thing on its back that had stung it. Chris held on grimly, shuddering with the creature beneath her with each impact.

Then it tilted forward, and charged the opposite wall. Chris's feet went above her head, and her body swung down abruptly, pain lancing through her arms and wrists as they were twisted unnaturally.

Then she was falling, her hands having betrayed her to pain, sliding against the thick, silver fur. The ground came up and struck her along the side as the great silver giant passed overhead.

Dizzily, Chris tried to rise, but her arms shook and legs refused to move. Her left side was one big ache. With a sigh, she slipped back to the ground with closed eyes, wincing as it seemed to shudder beneath her.

"Lady Chris! Lady Chris!" The frantic voice in her ear could only be Borus's. "Lady Chris, are you all right?" Warmth trickled over her – a healing spell? – and she opened her eyes.

"I told no one to interfere," she said thickly, before her head cleared. "Get out of here before the queen slams into you."

"The queen? That giant monster? It's dead, milady! Slammed itself right into the wall!"

Chris struggled to sit up, pushing aside helpful hands that tried to keep her down. "That wouldn't have killed it, at most stunned it, it's too big…" Then she saw the wall of the courtyard, and trailed off.

The thick, straight stone wall was no longer perfectly straight. A section of the wall had been forced outwards, the stones that formed it pushed back out of alignment. A few of the topmost stones had fallen, great slabs nearly as long as she was. Beside this great rent was a pile of ash and smoke, slowly evaporating in the light of false dawn.

Ignoring Borus's and Louis's protestations, she rose shakily and slowly, and cautiously made her way towards the ruined wall.

The ash was still several feet deep, but Chris saw a gleam amidst the blackness. Borus put a hand on her shoulder, then waded out into the ash and pulled out her sword.

"The monster must've driven it all the way into its brain when it hit the wall, Lady Chris. Like a giant hammer hitting a nail." He spat into the black dust, which hissed at the damp. "Pity it's disintegrating like this. A silver pelt that size would've been quite a trophy."

"It certainly would've helped us in the way of rugs for the barracks," Chris said slowly. The word _trophy_ felt like a sour taste, and she hid a grimace. "I suppose we'll send the other corpses to a furrier."

Borus shrugged. "Might as well get some use out of the monsters. The live ones fled, after you got rid of the boss."

Chris took one last look at what remained of the great silver creature she'd fought. The healing spell had left her a fair number of aches, but even so it was hard to forget the feeling she'd had upon its back. And in its own way, it had been honorable. It had given her a chance to save herself and the men and women she was responsible for.

To Borus's audible astonishment, she saluted the debris and rent wall. Then she turned to face Brass Castle's keep.

Whatever healing spell had been used on her had cured the worst of her pain, leaving her now acutely aware of the scrapes and scratches she'd obtained on her legs and feet. She'd lost a toenail when her feet had been too numb to notice, and one ankle was throbbing. Her arms and shoulders protested however she let them hang. She looked down at her nightdress and grimaced. Torn in places, stained black in others, and spattered with anonymous blood, the laundress would probably wind up burning it.

At least she had another one in her room. Assuming her room was still there. "Let's go inside. Cleanup ought to be organized. And then," Chris yawned. "I'm going to get some sleep."

------------------------

Chris had expected to be left to sleep until she woke up on her own, but she found herself roused around noon by an impatient-looking Louis.

"Lady Chris! You're needed upstairs," he told her, as she rose stiffly from the infirmary cot she'd been granted. "They can't get the ice off the walls."

Soft slippers had thoughtfully been left at the foot of her bed, and she slowly slid both of them on before following him up the stairs to the upper corridor.

The walls glittered, the torches still burning merrily and the light from the windows bringing a brightness that was multiplied and scintillated almost blindingly along the hallway. It was beautiful, but also very clearly a nuisance. Salome stood alone by one of the frozen doors, looking amused.

"I'd like to be able to access this door, if it's not too much trouble, Lady Chris."

Chris snorted at his indirectness. She paced to the center of the hall, and placed her right hand on one of the walls. _Water Rune, it's time to take back what you made._

The Rune was much more reluctant to remove the barriers than it had been to create them, and it took quite some time to get it to cooperate. Finally, almost sulkily, the Rune withdrew the walls of ice, the glittering crystals shrinking until none were left. Chris put her left hand against the bare stone; it was cool and dry.

The door to Percival's room was nearby. Frowning, Salome stepped up to it and rapped his knuckles on the wood. There was no answer.

Impatiently, he turned the knob and pushed the door open, walking into the front part of Percival's rooms.

Chris followed him, hesitating when he passed into the sleeping area. She paused at the threshold, as he strode purposely to the bed and tore open the curtains.

This produced an angry yelp as a Percival sat suddenly upright. "What the hell do you mean, barging into a fellow's room like this?" he demanded, pulling the covers up to hide that he was only wearing striped drawers. "Show some respect, or at least some sympathy, Salome. We were all up late doing blasted paperwork last night."

Salome turned to Chris. "Captain, I believe I've located our missing comrade," he told her, and bowed.


	6. Corsetry

It was a pleasant enough afternoon – sunny and clear-skied, with just enough breeze to prevent perspiration if your clothes were light and you were out of the sun. Borus was wearing a long-sleeve cotton shirt and had chosen a table in full sun, and found the breeze agreeably ticklish at his sweat-damped temples, neck, and wrists.

The wine was pleasant, too, a smooth, earthy red. It had come from the café's cellar, and not his own, and he had to admit Mamie's sommelier knew his trade. It complimented the meal he'd ordered quite well.

There was only one problem.

"She's late," Borus said unnecessarily, and for the third time, snapping his pocketwatch closed. "Wasn't she supposed to meet us here an hour ago?"

"The Captain seemed tense today," Roland offered quietly over the last of his crudités. "Perhaps she decided a leisurely lunch was inappropriate under the circumstances."

Borus sighed and set down his wineglass. "The whole high command is tense – you can practically smell it if you step inside the castle. There's been no word from Geddoe and his crew since they went to LeBuque, and it's not exactly a situation where 'no news is good news'." He shook his head. It still felt strange to use a military term like "high command," to refer to the mixed and not-exactly-hierarchical group of Grasslanders, Zexens, and Harmonians that were leading Fire Bringer. Particularly when the head strategist was a careless-looking, drowsy youth of seventeen, and the nominal leader a Karayan boy two years his junior. "She could've at least sent Louis to let us know she wouldn't be coming."

Roland had apparently decided such a complaint wasn't worth responding to, so silence settled on the table for a moment or to. Borus sipped his wine morosely and gradually became aware of the animated discussion at the next table.

"…That's a good question, Ace. But I'm afraid I, er, never quite obtained that information on our journey to Chisha," Nash Clovis was saying, and Borus found himself grinding his teeth at the voice of that man. He glanced at Roland. The elf's face seemed blank unreadable, but there was a little line between his eyebrows that Borus had learned over the years meant disapproval.

"You know, I bet one of her knights would know." Ace, one of Geddoe's mercenaries who'd been left behind, shoved his chair abruptly out from the table, and addressed Borus. "Hey, you! I got somethin' to ask you."

"What's that?" Borus said, somewhat irritated by the other man's sudden and informal address. He took a sip of wine, trying to seem nonchalant.

"What kinda corset does your hot lady captain wear?"

Borus choked mid-swallow, coughed, sputtered and sprayed wine all over Roland. "What…What a thing to say!" he managed to exclaim through the coughing, and passed the unfortunate Roland his napkin. He knew mercenaries lacked manners, but surely even the saltiest pirate would know how inappropriate a question that was!

"No, no, y'see… I'm researching her character for a novel I'm writing," Ace said nervously, in what he probably thought was a soothing tone. He wilted under the cold glaze of the dripping Roland as the elf impassively mopped his face. "I am, really, honest…"

"How would I know something like that?" Borus sputtered, fury and embarrassment fueled by wine flushing his face.

"Ah! You're having a pretty interesting conversation over here," Joker's voice said from behind Borus's left shoulder, and the knight jumped in his seat.

"Maybe she tightlaces," Nash said into Borus's right ear, and it was only his efforts to clean up the spilled wine that kept the knight from turning to punch him. The fashion he referred to made women short of breath and limited their mobility, and all in all was highly impractical for a soldier.

"Does she go for a monobosom, or does she separate?" Ace wanted to know, holding a leaky-looking pen to a tattered notebook.

"I'm certain she laces from the bottom up, a woman like her," Joker told his companion. "I wouldn't let that 'Silver Maiden' business fool you."

"How dare you!" Borus snarled, abandoning the stained tablecloth and nearly toppling his chair as he rose. How dared that… that… hired thug suggest Lady Chris lace her corsets like a common prostitute! He reached for the man's coat, but Joker dodged.

Ace was taking notes, keeping one eye on the furious Borus. "Whalebone or wooden boning? Laced in the front or back? Does it have a busk?"

"Brocade, canvas, and steel boning, important from Toran. It's a new fashion there, dwarf-made corsets. They're all straight fronts, laced in the back. Definitely busks," Joker suggested, dodging Borus.

"No, no. Whalebone and canvas covered in linen," Nash said firmly. "Elongated hourglass – it's popular in Harmonia right now, you know - monobosom, lacing in both the back and front. No shoulder straps. And a silk chemise underneath. She's a proper lady, only the best will do. Oh, and a partial farthingale."

"Sure she doesn't go in for leather?" Ace asked, scribbling feverishly. "I mean, warrior woman and all that… it'd be like extra armor, right?"

"Leather stays? Like a…a… laundrymaid?" Nash asked, shocked. "Don't be vulgar, Ace, this is a lady we're talking about. Not a woman of common birth who wears her stays on the outside, nor a strumpet who wears a fancy corset meant to be seen by all. A proper lady's corsetry is well-made, visually appealing, and seen only by… her maids, and one very lucky man."

Borus had had enough. It was bad enough these men were discussion women's underwear in a public place (and that they seemed to know an unfathomable amount about it), but that they presumed to speculate on what Lady Chris might wear, and the smug way Nash had spoken that last part about the lucky man… "How would you know?" he screeched, grabbing the Harmonian by the collar and shaking him furiously.

"Ah, well… we traveled together…" Nash said weakly, through the whiplash. "And it was just a guess. Just a guess! I don't actually know!"

Ace and Joker remained free to speculate loudly. "Lace or embroidery? I'm saying lace."

"No, no, embroidery! Flowers or vines, maybe doves. With a painted ivory busk to match, a love-token from one of her knights."

Nash was flung to the ground as Borus rounded on Joker.

"I bet she wears crinolines, when she wears dresses," the Harmonian called weakly from the floor. "Or panniers. Very much the mode in Zexen, panniers. No bustles, though, which is a pity. I appreciate a good bustle on a woman."

"What a good thing that today is the Zexen laundry day, and I shall be able to have this washed before the stain sets," Roland announced loudly.  
Everyone grew quiet.

"To the laundry!" Ace announced, and Borus found himself very swiftly left alone.

"What in the Goddess's name possessed you to suggest that to those… those… uncouth louts?" Borus asked the elf hotly. "Now they'll go and paw at… at…" He sought a suitable euphemism. "…at Lady Chris's underthings!"

"Brawls between Zexen Knights and Harmonian mercenaries are not conducive to good relations between the nations," Roland said simply. "And in any event, I doubt they will walk away satisfied from this."

------------

Twenty minutes later found Borus near the laundry lines. It wasn't that he _wanted_ to see what type of corset his captain wore, it was just that… well, someone had to guard her privacy! Hoping he wasn't too late, Borus took up a watch post by a tree, careful to keep his back to the lines hanging with bloomers, petticoats, and other mysterious and feminine items.

A few minutes later, the piping voice of Kidd, would-be detective and prepubescent snoop, broke the air.

"Right this way, gentlemen. Since you paid extra for this information, I'll even point it out for you," the boy said importantly.

"Where is it?" Ace asked, somewhere behind Borus. The knight growled and leaned back against the tree; he could do nothing about the ruffian's presence without turning to face the laundry lines…

He could hear footsteps pass by his tree, then halt not two meters away.

"Here," the boy said triumphantly.

"What are you pointing at? I don't see anything," Nash complained. "Don't try to trick us…"

There was a stamp of a foot. "I'm not trying to trick you. I asked Iku, she was on laundry duty today, and she's a reliable source. It's that one, I'm sure."

"That one? But it's so… " Joker muttered. "I don't believe this."

Kidd sighed, exasperated. "I know that my information is correct. Whether or not you believe it isn't my business. You're lucky today – I was told that Lady Chris doesn't usually have her stays washed, just aired out."

"Yes, but…" Nash whined.

Was something wrong? Borus decided to risk a look – at the men, not at the laundry, of course. He turned and carefully peered around the tree…

Visions of silk linings, satin lacing, and fine embroidery failed to meet his eye. The boy detective was pointing instead at a stiff, dark shape that hung on the nearest line.

Stained, greying, and definitely battered, the simple leather stays hung unattractively on the laundry line.

"Less style than a grocer's daughter…how disappointing," Nash moaned, and for once, Borus found himself in complete agreement.

* * *

Some background on this story: The Suikoden III manga, volume 10, has scene in which several male characters speculate on the bra size of one of the main female characters. Since brassieres have only been around in our world for the past hundred years or so, and given the approximate level of technology in the Suikoden world. this seemed anachronistic to me – stays and corsets seemed much more the thing, as I used in another 'fic. And dammit, I did not do all that research on period undergarments for "An Evening with Chris Lightfellow" just to have some lazy hack writer assume she's got modern underclothes for some juvenile gag! Thhbpt. 

Mad props to Rienna for costuming details, fact checking, and for making sure I at least regionally separated different period styles.


End file.
